Neither Arda nor Aman
by Larisya
Summary: Once Valinor retreated from this world, the Elves who remained on Middle-Earth could still sail West...but if it wasn't Aman they found, then what was it? (Not modern day.)
1. America

**Disclaimer: I don't own Tolkien. Believe me, I'd know.**

**Chapter 1: America**

Not all the elves passed.

Some of them lingered on in Arda Marred.

Years and years and years.

Not empty years, of course. But oh so many years.

Years enough for the shape of the land to bend again. Long enough for Valinor to retreat utterly from this world.

They did not all wish to return.

Some of them did. Of course, they did.

Men became less than they once were.

They sailed. Of course, they sailed.

But there was nothing to sail to.

It was gone. Of course, it was gone.

That doesn't mean they were turned back. No, they landed somewhere.

It just wasn't Aman. Of course, it wasn't Aman.

It was America.

**AN: So, I thought it would be fun to try to mesh Tolkien and world history. I'm going to attempt to keep both as genuine as I can. Please tell me if you'd be interested in this! Thank you.**


	2. Shoreline

**Disclaimer: It hasn't become mine in the past few minutes. Go figure.**

**Chapter 2: Shoreline**

"Are you certain that this craft is seaworthy, Lindir?" Erestor's gaze swept over the makeshift craft critically. "It seems fairly rickety to me."

"Of course it will hold. I spent decades on this ship. Why would it _not_ sail?" Lindir's glare pinned him down, and he hastily relented.

"I am sure it will, Lindir; you have my full confidence, I assure you. I was just...concerned. It is a long way to Aman." Secretly, he still harbored doubts. The earliest boards were pitted and rotting, and water sloshed over the sides. They had not even embarked yet! Valar only knew how much could trickle in when their weight pressed down on the dilapidated wood. _Still_, Erestor thought, _we will reach Valinor either way. It would not be such an awful thing to die in the ocean._

No, no, it would not. A grin teased the corner of his lips, and he wriggled his bare toes as the frothing waves lapped against them. The sea might be more of a grey this early in the morn, but it still drew him with its beauty, more surely than a hearty meal could have tempted Peregrin Took. Speak of sea-longing had long run rampant—since Cuiviénen, in fact—but Erestor had never understood it. To not be able to resist the lure of a huge puddle of water? It had seemed as much a tall tale as dragonfire in Bree. Yet here he stood, more than a millennium after his lord and most of kin had departed for white shores, _understanding_.

What Erestor no longer comprehended was why he had lingered so many years. The sea foamed _right outside_, but he neglected to heed its song. It seemed a grievous neglect, now. It was a foolish notion, he supposed, to assume that he would remain the same for all time. It was arresting nevertheless.

"Hey, Erestor! Erestor! Are you listening to me? Eres—" Lindir barreled into him, full tilt. They hit the water with a tremendous splash, the salty brine blanketing their whole bodies. Erestor surfaced spluttering, indignation painted plainly across his features.

"What, in the name of the _Valar_, did you think you were doing, Lindir?" He shook his head, waist-length rat tails of soaked walnut hair swinging wildly about his face. "You are _supposed_ to be mature."

"Hey! Hey, Erestor, stop that! Water is flying everywhere. You will drench me!" Erestor raised a sardonic brow. "Well, more than I already am, then."

Erestor glanced down at his clingy, dripping robes, then back up to the half-dry Lindir. Robes. Lindir. Robes. Lindir. "_You_ are already drenched."

"Well, of course. And I will be even _more_ wet if we do not get out of the surf. Come _on_, Erestor." Lindir's arm flashed out to grip his, and he yanked Erestor forward with enough force to send him sprawling across the dry sand. Erestor squeezed his eyes shut in horror before hauling himself to his feet. When he dared to peek down at himself, every inch of his front was covered in minuscule grains of sand. He bit off a short growl and shrugged of the robe. His tunic and leggings were still soaked, but they, at least, were clean. Erestor scrubbed the sand off his face. His hair he just ran a half-hearted hand through before braiding the mess back. "Sorry, Erestor."

"It is fine, Lindir. Let us just depart now, or we will never leave." Wincing a little as the sand caked his feet, he strode back to the boat.

"It is time to meet our friends."

**AN: The original plan was for Lindir to be the main character, but obviously it hasn't worked out that way. I'd just like to point out that they are going to ****_Pre-England_****America; there aren't many people there. I'm sorry it's so short. If you do like it, or even if you don't, I'd appreciate feedback. Thanks!**


	3. Open Ocean

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's legendarium is not mine. Hence the "Tolkien's."**

**Chapter 3: Open Ocean**

"I should have made a bigger boat, Erestor."

"Think so?" Erestor scoffed. They jostled each other with each toss of the churning sea. Neither Lindir nor Erestor rested at all for days because every time one or the other drifted into reverie, the tossing of the boat flung them into one another. Not even the comfort of the stars was available, the storm clouds effectively shrouding the sky. The flashes of lightning following the crashes of thunder were the only illumination. The final blow before Erestor's temper bubbled up in scathing sarcasm was the water. The boat dipped down beneath the surface numerous times, and the water level came up to his waist. It was a sheer miracle the ship did not just sink to the ocean floor!

"I—I apologize. You warned me." Lindir mournfully fingered the torn, waterlogged sail. "This will not be up to much even once the storm subsides."

Erestor, exasperated, blew a tendril of hair that had escaped the braid from months ago out of his eyes. "I thought you Sindar were meant to be adept at shipbuilding, Lindir. I am not certain, but from my perch, stranded in the middle of the ocean, I am not seeing it." The strand of hair whipped back into slate grey eyes with a gust of wind.

"I—" A particularly violent lurch sent Lindir tumbling into the roiling waves mid-sentence. The sudden reallocation of weight caused the boat to tip sharply the opposite direction. Erestor scrambled for purchase before throwing his body forward to balance it out. His eyes frantically scanned the ocean for the Sinda's light brown locks, cursing his friend's grey clothing. He groped blindly through the water, praying his flailing arms would nudge an Elvish form.

"Lindi—" Erestor cut off, spluttering, when a wave smacked him full in the face. "Lindir! Where are you? Lindir!" When his searching hand brushed something almost...feathery, he nearly recoiled, assuming it to be seaweed. Instead, he made a mad grasp for the elusive filaments, his burgeoning hopes insisting they could be Lindir's hair. Eyes squinted against the spray and hands buried as deeply as he dared, Erestor hoisted up what he yearned to be his friend. A broken sob pushed past pursed lips. It was Lindir, but he was utterly insensible.

Erestor hauled him back into the boat and suspended him above the water. "Please, please, Lindir, wake up. Wake up! I do not wish to reach Valinor with a passed friend. Awaken!" Erestor implored, any tears disguised by pounding rainfall. "_Please_."

Lindir's eyes peaked open, and he offered Erestor a small grin through chattering teeth. "Gu-guess you we-were right, Eres...tor. Maybe I d-do n-need some l-lesson-ns."

Erestor gave a shaky laugh, though he could not suppress his worry at his friend's shivering, and softly whispered, "Think so?"

**AN: I know it's short—****_again—_****and I'm sorry if it bothers anyone. I'm going to get them to America in the next chapter, I think. Thanks to fantasychica37, will zona, and MysteriousMaiden for reviewing and TwistedTounges for favoriting/following. I appreciate that and any additional feedback!**


	4. Misgivings

**Disclaimer: Sadly, Tolkien's work is not my own. Seriously, ****_fan_****fiction.**

**Chapter 4: Misgivings**

"Erestor, look! Look! 'Tis land!" Splashing of feet in water and the _fwap_ of wet cloth against skin followed. Whipping his head around in a whirlwind of sodden clothes and hair, Lindir again exclaimed, "We are here!"

Erestor could not help the exuberant grin that spread across his face. Finally, _finally_, they had reached Aman. Soon he would see his lord again—perhaps even his family, who could have been released from Mandos. The lady Celebrían, he had not met in millennia, and she may be in better health and spirits now. Lady Galadriel, the Thranduillion, all who sailed before him were within his grasp. Almost as tempting beckoned the solid, dry ground. No more lurching sea-craft or obnoxious spray. He had endured the last of sloshing through several feet of salty ocean water, and sopping clothes and hair looked to be a thing of the past. Yes, after months at a restless sea on a craft that should not have endured a river, landing at Valinor was a blessing like no other. Eager anticipation thrummed through his veins with every jolt and splatter.

Yet, as they neared the shore, Erestor began to have misgivings. It did not _look_ much like Aman ought to. It seemed too untamed, too young. Imladris possessed that air before they had arrived, but it departed many millennia past. Surely such an ancient land should not be so wild? Surely many Elves should have spilled out to every corner of land? Why leave this corner untouched? This was not right...

"Erestor? Where are the Elves?" Lindir's misty blue eyes radiated the same confusion insinuating his own being. "I do not understand."

"I—" Erestor closed his mouth abruptly, at a loss. Panic licked around the edges of his mind, insidious and cloying. "I do not know. I do not know either." Suddenly nothing mattered more than landing and locating someone, anyone. In a flurry, they dipped their hands into the surf and paddled wildly towards the shore. Their movements became wide and clumsy, reason overshadowed by the haze cloaking their minds. They had been alone together for so long that the very notion of continuing that solitude choked Erestor with terror. Breath was snatched from his lungs, and he sucked in great gulps of air like he dwelt on the tallest mountain. Yet with every breath he felt more lightheaded, as though the very air he breathed was a poisonous fume. _This could not be; it simply could not._

They were so close. He could not refrain any longer. He propelled himself headlong into the sea and swam to the beach like a madman. He fought against the drag of his clothes with a vengeance, each kick of flailing feet sending up a momentous splash. A wave caught him, and he washed up on the sand, spluttering. Erestor drowned out Lindir's queries as he staggered up the beach, grasping the first trunk he encountered. *Trenar nín!* Erestor insisted. *Mani sâd sen?* He shoved the Sindarin words at the tree, begging an answer, but all he received was faint confusion and questioning. Growing more perturbed, he tried again, more forcefully. *_Mani sâd sen?*_ More puzzlement, and an unfamiliar phrase. *Is the two-leg talking? I do not understand it.* Erestor jerked back, realizing that the tree was not unresponsive—it did not speak any Elvish tongue.

Unheard of! It was unheard of for a creature of the forest to use a tongue of Man but not Elves. The Elves had taught them speech; they did not know any others. The foreign tongue mystified Erestor, having never heard tell of such phrasing and cadences. He subjected the tree to his appalled gaze, fascination glinting in grey orbs. A finger reached out to brush the bark, and a soft whisper of a thought drifted into the tree. *Mani le?*

*What?*

*Mani le!*

*What?*

_*Mani le?!*_ Erestor collapsed to the ground, nearly sobbing from frustration. His dragging fingernails left deep gouges in the bark of the tree. At the sound of Lindir's soft tread and gentle query, he tilted his head up and breathed, "Lindir, I do not think this is Aman."

**Sindarin translations:**

**Trenar nín: Tell me**

**Mani sâd sen: What place [is] this**

**Mani le: What [are] you**

**AN: Sorry if any of the Sindarin is off; I only know the rudiments. I'll only put it if one of the speakers doesn't speak Sindarin. The *.* was for mental-type speech. I'm sorry it's short, but that's unlikely to change. I appreciate my reviews from "Guest" and "will zona." Thank you both so much!**

**Once again, any feedback is appreciated!**


	5. Curse You

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine.**

**Chapter 5: Curse You**

"What? What do you mean? How do you know?" Lindir's pupil's flicked back and forth between every facet of the area. The trees were old, but not the way Arda was old. They had ages Erestor had not witnessed since the beginning of the Fourth Age. Young. Not at all what he was used to. Forests in Aman ought to be even less youthful than those in Arda.

"This cannot be Aman, Lindir. Feel. It is younger than even Arda. So much newer. And the trees...the trees. They do not speak Sindarin. Not a word." Lindir's mouth gaped open, a strand of dripping hair brushing the inside of his mouth. Blue eyes strained wide as they met haunted grey. "We're never going to see our families again."

Lindir stumbled away, falling over backwards and crawling further as swiftly as possible. He longed to bask in the sea, to allow it to sooth his concern. Erestor just let buttery brown hair obscure his features and nestled his head back into tucked-up knees. He ignored the steady _drip drip_ of his sopping hair as droplets broke off and struck the carpet of decaying leaves. Instead, he inhaled deeply, relishing in the must and the salty ocean. The gentle susurrus of the leaves calmed him, the familiarity having a better effect than years of languishing on the coastline. He needed the reassurance that some things were the same, despite being trapped in a foreign land. The breeze would always rustle the forest. He glanced fondly at the pocket of sunlight overlaid with leaf shadows. The sun would always shine and cast shadows. Fingernails dug into the loamy soil, removing a handful and rubbing it between blackened fingers. The ground would always be there to catch him. Perhaps it was not much different really. Perhaps...but Erestor did not truly believe that. He had lived off of the pure hope of meeting with his friends and family again. Even when he dwelled on Arda, the promise was always there. But now...he did not even know whether his death would lead him to Mandos. For all he knew, he might just dissipate.

He flung the bit of dirt violently, watching with savage glee as it struck the trunk and crumbled off. "Curse you! _Curse_ you all, you Morgoth-kin yrch! What did I ever do? I am no Kinslayer! I have done nothing wrong! I wager all fourteen of you are gathered comfortably in Taniquetil, gazing down and mocking those foolish, unfortunate edhel, and is it not so very _sad_ to see them so _bereaved_? Or perhaps you have taken conference with Morgoth again? Surely he is in your _confidence_. How many more have you inflicted this cruel fate upon? Was your pardon but a jest, a cruel jest to lure we accurséd Noldor away from all the home we had left? What right had you, even be it so, to deny Lindir, a Sinda, his right to eternal peace? How _dare_ you? Curséd, curséd Valar!" The fury emanating off of him was offset by the scalding tears streaming down his cheeks. He had surged to his feet mid-rant, and now sunk back down to the ground in a crumpled heap, finally weeping in earnest. To be forever severed from his kin...it was a fate he had never contemplated.

"Curse you." The words, this time, were spoken shakily and were cut off by gasping sobs. "Curse you."

**AN: These will probably just keep being short but frequent. I like being able to end a scene without ruining my "moment" afterwards. Thanks to Nimrodel626 for favoriting and following, and to Satipheen for favoriting and, especially, reviewing. If you have the time, I really do appreciate the feedback reviews give me. It tells me whether the people I know are reading it actually enjoying it. Thanks!**


	6. Sea Spray

**Disclaimer: It took a lot longer than I've been alive to create Tolkien's masterpiece. Not mine.**

**Chapter 6: Sea Spray**

Erestor lifted his head at the sweet sound of lilting Sindarin song. Though his face was still streaked with tears, a shaky smile bloomed across his face.

"Uich gwennen na 'wanath ah na dhín.

An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen.

Boe naid bain gwannathar,

Boe naer gwannathach..."

Lindir. The minstrel did have a tendency to sing his troubles away. His grin got a little steadier as his light tread neared the shore. It blossomed in earnest when he glimpsed Lindir wading through the surf, fawn hair whipping in the wind. At least his friend was with him still. He crept noiselessly towards Lindir, the roar of the sea masking his progress. Erestor sloshed the last steps, determined not to alert the bard through his splashing. An arm snaked around the Sinda's waist, pulling him close. Lindir's head jerked up, blue eyes wide, before he registered who it was and calmed. "Well met, Erestor."

"Well met, Lindir." They both smiled a little and turned back towards the ocean. The slightly smaller elf rested his head on Erestor's shoulder with a sigh as they mournfully contemplated the horizon, a better place. Melancholy glinted in grey and blue, and they clung to each other, dreaming of a true home. Their long shadows rippled as the waves washed over them, for together they stood as their shadows grew longer and longer and longer, and the tide got lower and lower and lower. Suddenly, they stood on damp sand, but no water washed over their feet. It was a stinging loss only because it had seemed so constant all those hours. Without it, they were forced to find something—anything—to occupy them. Or— "Lindir, do you think we should follow it?"

"Obviously."

They broke away and dashed forward. A rock lay hidden by roiling water, and Erestor dove headfirst into the sea—again. The sorrowful spell they had woven over themselves was broken by peals of hysterical laughter. Erestor swiped his palm over his face with a _shlick_ when he emerged before glaring hotly at the roaring brunet. Wiping his clingy hair over his shoulder, Erestor launched himself at the Sinda with a growl. The dexterous minstrel danced out his trajectory, and Erestor hurtled forward into the sea. Again. Except this time, he stood up spitting a mouthful of saturated sand. His top teeth scraped over his tongue repeatedly, trying to divine where all the painful rocks were hidden.

"I'm beginning to think," Erestor said once he recovered, his tone silkily dangerous, "that _you_ have something to do with this strange new misfortune. After all, it only and _always_ happens—around you." He gave Lindir a demonic grin, barely affected by the hair plastered around it and the rivulets of water trailing down his face. "An _awfully_..._suspicious..._coincidence, would you not say?" His voice had dropped to a languorous murmur.

The Sinda backed away from the Noldo, a nervous titter belying his hands raised in surrender. "Now now, I am certain it has happened before. As a matter of fact, I distinctly recall Elrond _swearing _he would..." He snapped his mouth shut. "I-I mean... Everyone is clumsy every once in a while. It is not so uncommon, not a _disaster_..." Lindir backed away as he spoke, unease blooming plainly across his face.

Erestor sighed heavily. The elf was _hopeless_. He could not hold his tongue if it killed him, but he had to forgive him anyway. They were friends, and no one could resist his pleading eyes. "Never mind, Lindir. It does not really matter anyway."

His countenance brightened with implausible speed. It may have been a hoax, but it was still irresistible. "You are incorrigible." Since he was soaked all ready, Erestor settled himself on the beach, the waves lapping at his toes. He yanked Lindir onto the sand next to him, and the bard popped up with a yelp. "Erestor! Why do you _always_ get me wet?"

Erestor replied languidly, peering up through half-lidded eyes. "And again—I highly doubt that _I_ am the one causing our perpetual dampness. Just sit down, Lindir. Please." The minstrel sent a dubious glance towards the inch of water Erestor was lounging in. "You said it yourself. You are all ready wet."

The Sinda plopped down with a spray of water and a disgruntled frown. They sat together in an increasingly companionable silence as the stars began to pierce the thick blanket of the sky. Erestor's lips held the faint memory of a smile as he gazed at Elentári's masterpiece and felt around in the sand around him. He came up with a scalloped sea shell, coated in muck and clotted with sand. He swished it in the surf absentmindedly, fiddling with it and flipping around in his hands as he wiped off the grime. "Lindir?"

"Yes, Erestor?"

"Do you think we will ever find our kin again?"

"...I hope so. Erestor?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there is anyone here? Where do you think we are?"

"...I do not know, Lindir."

The brief stint of speech lapsed, and Erestor scrubbed a bit more viciously at the crinkles in the shells. The stars shone brightly overhead. A gibbous moon lit the waters silver. The full moon had been several days ago. Erestor felt tears of frustration welling in his eyes. It was all so _inane_. He beat them down, clutching the shell with white knuckles.

"Erestor?"

He bit his lip. "Yes?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Oh, Eru, Lindir, I-_I_ do not know. Try to live." His eyes glazed a bit as he stared at the misty clouds on the horizon. "We each brought a sword. A couple of knives." His gaze slid over to the rickety boat a little down shore. "It weighed down the boat enough. They ought to still be there."

"Try to live. Swords." Lindir gave a sardonic smile, no real amusement or pleasure in it. Just deprecation and sorrow. So unlike him. "I am sure we will do just fine."

Erestor slipped the pearly white shell into his pocket and leaned into Lindir, his eyes fogging. "Aye, Lindir."

"Just fine."

**Lyrics to Lindir's song ("Breath of Life" from the ****_The Two Towers _****movie):**

"**You are not bound to loss and silence.**

**For you are not bound to the circles of this world.**

**All things must pass away,**

**All life is doomed to fade.**

**Sorrowing you must go..."**

**(Best song I could find, having no real interest in taking an extra 3-4 days to write and translate my own song. I thought it sort of fit.)**

**AN: OK. So. I'm sorry. Like, really sorry. I did mean to do this earlier but well, school. Work. Stuff. I'm sorry. But look, look! It's longer! It may or may not seem like I'm trying to avoid too much American history. I am. I don't know that much about American history, but I'm speed-studying the relevant time periods. If I do get something wrong later, don't kill me. There should be some in the next chapter or so. Probably by chapter nine at the very latest. Depend on length, etc.**

**If it seems at all romance-y, it's unintentional. If it doesn't, good. It's hard to tell with my own writing.**

**Thanks to hiyori, Satipheen, and HungerGamesQueen100 for reviewing, and to Kat Dawn80 and HungerGamesQueen100 for favoriting and following. I really appreciate it, as well as all previous ones. Thanks so much! Any feedback at all is welcome.**


	7. Not Enough

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's Legendarium=Not mine.**

**Chapter 7: Not Enough**

_Ah, how lovely. I am underwater._ _Wait,_ what?! Erestor's eyes snapped into focus to view a rippling sunrise. He surged up, rubbing his stinging eyes and gasping. His lungs ached, and his head seemed stuffed with wool. He hacked harshly for a few minutes while yanking Lindir to the surface also. Still a little breathless, Erestor wheezed, "Suppose...this was...a really...bad...place...to sleep...aye, Lindir?"

"Of...course...Erestor. I...am soaked... Again."

Erestor's eyes widened, and his mouth gaped open. He snapped it shut, a grim tilt overtaking his visage. "Lindir. What. In the name of Eru. Is. Your. Obsession. With. Getting. Wet. I. Do. Not. Understand. It." Each word was punctuated with a vicious poke to the chest. "You love the sea. What _is_ this?" He stood militantly, one hand on his hip. His gaze pinned Lindir down, even against thin air.

"No, Erestor, you do not understand. It is the principle of the thing! If I do not wish to be wet, I should not have to be!" He finished triumphantly, the smirk gracing his lips blaring his intent to be hailed as champion. "Oh, and also, wet things do not dry!"

Erestor groaned, barely resisting the urge to search out a wall and slam his head against it—repeatedly. "Lindir, what? I—oh, never mind. Elber—Eru! Let us just...do something gainful." He swept the area behind him speculatively, almost expecting the solution to pop out at him. It did not.

"Erestor! Erestor!" Lindir bounced on the balls of his feet, pointing exuberantly. "We did want to get out things out of _that_ boat, did we not?" He sobered a little, falling down to the ground at the reminder of their situation.

"Yes..." Erestor said quizzically.

"Well, it is floating away."

"What?" Sure enough, when Erestor turned his eyes north, there was their shell of wood, bobbing nearly a quarter of a league away on the waves. Swearing virulently, he dove _back_ into the sea. The sea-longing was _not _going to be able to survive this ordeal. Fed up did not even begin to expound upon the extent of his exasperation with this humongous expanse of saltwater. Bitter vitriol surged through his mind as he kicked out to boat and dragged it back. Clearly, they should have shored it up on the beach somewhere. Idiots, that was what they were.

By the time he got dry—well, damp—ground under his feet again, Lindir was, naturally, dry. Erestor was sopping wet. Lindir was bone dry. Erestor was _soaked_. Lindir was a _desert_. Erestor. Wet. Lindir. Dry.

_No._

In a fit of blistering fury, Erestor stalked over to the bard and wrung his hair out over him. He raked a surveying gaze over the Sinda, and, being unsatisfied, shucked off his tunic and summarily dried it on Lindir. He nodded contentedly and strolled back to the boat, calling back, "You are lucky I went easy on you, Lindir." A line of soft imprints trailed his squelching footsteps.

His temper cooled, Erestor chuckled lightly as he climbed into the...raft, almost, by now. Lindir's abject horror had been quite amusing. Now, though, the task at hand was imperative. He rooted through mushy, pulpy wooden planks that had disintegrated, searching for waxy cloth they had swathed all their remaining possessions in. They would need every arrowhead in hostile, alien territory. He was increasingly they had simply piled everything in, though more still would be welcome. His questing fingers hit the strange texture of well-oiled cloth. He grasped it with both hands and started to lug it out, starting when another pair of pale hands curled around the opposite end. He had not realized Lindir had come over. Once the bundle cleared the remains of their boat, they let it thump to the sand with a metallic clatter. Small beads of water rolled off the top. They stood looking at it, a little perturbed. "This is all we have."

Two flaps flipped to the side, to reveal...more bundles. "Erestor, you may have been overzealous in the packaging." Erestor just threw him a wry grin before opening the first one. A couple of changes of clothing—and _why_ had he not remembered this earlier—as well as the remains of their _lembas_ and fresh water. Enough for maybe a few months. "Well, that is certainly a surprise, Erestor. I _only_ had to dig it up a few times every _day_."

Erestor peered at him before huffing, "Val—Eru, Lindir, you are in a horrid mood recently. I would swear you are acting more like me."

His lips turned up at the corners. "Are you implying something about yourself? I never thought I would see the day."

"Ha ha." Thick sarcasm coated the words. "Now, may we continue?" Lindir gestured broadly, which Erestor took to mean yes and began sorting through their items again.

Several loops of _hithlain_.

A tinderbox, though enough water had leaked in that the tinder itself would be useless for a time, perhaps salvageable.

Two bows and quivers full of arrows. Those, too, would need dry and would likely sustain water damage.

A truly impressive array of knives of all sizes and types. Serrated, eating, carving, eating, throwing, battle, long, and everything in between. A few were even adorned with jewels for affairs of state. Thank Eru Elvish metals did not rust easily.

A pair of gleaming swords etched with Tengwar runes, sheathes alongside. Erestor snatched his and belted it on, followed swiftly by Lindir. They exchanged relieved smiles. The heavy weight seemed an enormous comfort.

A tangle of fishing gear Lindir had insisted upon bringing, hoping for an alternative to _lembas_ every once in a while. He had been soundly disabused of the notion when Erestor found out. ("How are we going to _cook_ it?" "I brought pots!" "With what fire? On our _wooden_ ship?" "Oh...") Naturally, that meant they had pots.

The last thing Lindir immediately caught up and clutched to his chest in reverence. It was a leather case with delicate embroidery depicting forest plants trailing across it. "My lyre. It is probably horribly out of tune." He grinned as wide as possible anyway.

Erestor, however, furrowed his brow and glanced up at Lindir with worried grey eyes. "This is all we have," he said again.

Lindir shrugged casually, still absorbed in his lyre. "It is more than most lug with them to Valinor."

"Lindir." He ignored him. "Lindir." Silence. "_Lindir_." Blue eyes drifted up and met Erestor's. "It is not enough. It cannot be enough. What if there is nothing and no one here? What if we reach the other end of the forest and all we find is another wide expanse of water?"

Blue eyes blinked once, slowly. "Well then, obviously this is an island, and we build another boat and keep going." He stared at Erestor for a long moment, as though contemplating his utter idiocy, before once again turning the brunt of his attention on his "baby."

Erestor forced his gaze away, a tear tracing its way down his cheek. "Oh, but Lindir, it will not be like that," he whispered tightly. "And I am afraid. So very frightened."

"It will not be enough."

**AN: OK, so, no Native Americans. Sorry if you really wanted them. When I do get there, you are probably going to have to be a little generous with dates and which tribes coincide. I'll try, but it won't be perfect. Like I said, I know little about American history. I'm only just now taking a class on the Americas, so please be kind in that respect.**

**I'm sorry also if you find what I let them have implausible. I attempted to only give them things they might actually take and that were difficult to replace. Most that seemed a little sketchy to me included a little explanation.**

**Thanks so much for reading this far and hopefully farther!**

**Special thanks to "Kai-aala" for reviewing and "Teapot of transformation" for reviewing, favouriting, and following, as well as to everyone mentioned in previous chapters. Thanks so much to all!**

**Any feedback is treasured. (No, seriously, I leave all the emails to clog up my inbox.)**


	8. Crickets

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's stuff isn't mine.**

**Chapter 8: Crickets**

_Cccccriiick. Cccccriiick. Cccc-ccccriiick-kk. Hooo-hoo-hooooo. Hoo-hoo. Cccrrrick. Hoo-hoo. Cccrrickkk. Crick. Crrrick. Hoo-hoooo. Crriiiiiiiiiiiiiiick. HOO! CRRRIIIICCCK! HOO-HOOOO! CRRRRRIIIICKKKK! HOO-HOO-HOO-HOOOO! CRRRII-CRRRRIIIIICKK! HOO-HOO!_

"Gah!" Erestor exclaimed, hair tangled in clawed hands. "Be silent, be _silent, _beSILENT!" With each word his tightly wound walnut hair received a vicious tug, and a tear squeezed its way out of clenched eyes in pure frustration. "What is _wrong_ with this place? How is he _not insane_? How does he rest? What is wrong with _him_?"

_CCCRRRIIIIIICCCKK!_

A high, short shriek startled Lindir out of his reverie and prompted a flurry of flapping wings. Laced, of course, with _hoo-hoo_'s. "I am at my wit's _end_, Lindir. What are these...these _creatures_ creating this racket!?" He flung a knife forward, pinning a moth to the trunk of a tree by the right wing, the left fluttering frantically against the calloused bark.

"Calm, Erestor. It is not that awful." Incredulity blazed in grey eyes. "We had owls, remember? They are not so strange." His conciliatory voice grated on Erestor's nerves. How _dare_ he take such an arch tone, as though he was so above it all.

"_Yes_, we had them, but they, at least, stayed quiet! How is this...this cacophony at all productive for hunting? For _anything_?" He gestured impotently. "And what are those—" _Crriiickk._ "Those!" He sunk down onto his knees and flung himself backwards.

Lindir leaned over him, one soft-booted foot stomping on several locks of splayed hair. "Well, Erestor, I am not entirely certain, but I would venture to guess some kind of insect?" The saccharine sweetness coating the words irritated Erestor even more than the first. The slight quirk of Lindir's left eyebrow pushed him over the edge.

"Oh, you, you are just as awful!"

_Crrick_. _Ccc-crrricck. Cccrrriick._

"Really?" A beat of silence. "You are sure?"

"Oh, for the—Yes!" Growled words ripped their way out of his throat, and he stalked over to their supplies. The grating screech of tearing cloth filled the air as two short swathes were yanked off. Erestor balled them before shoving them into his ears and lying down with his back to Lindir. Even though the point of several sheathes dug into his side, Erestor refused to show weakness like that. He would remain thusly throughout the night, and then even if he never drifted off into the realm of Elvish dreams, Lindir would not know. Ever. And that, after all, was the important part.

**AN: OK. So. Again. Short. I'm horrible. And sorry. Mostly sorry. But putting more seemed to not fit the tone, and I felt like writing something fairly light today. I had a lot of exams I was shying away from. I'll ****_try_**** to get more plot in next time. In earnest, truly. Hopefully you all at least enjoyed it. That is, after all, the main goal.**

**Thanks so much to those who reviewed, "Satipheen" and "Kai-aala." I really do appreciate it!**


	9. Idiocy

**Disclaimer: Tolkien and all he has created are not mine.**

**Chapter 9: Idiocy**

"Erestor! Erestor! Come on, I know you can hear me! Up, up!" A booted foot nudged Erestor over onto his stomach, then all the way around to his back. "Erestor!"

He cracked one eye open to glare at Lindir, then froze.

Elves did not close their eyes when they rested.

...

…so that is how he knew...

Oops.

He hauled himself up with a groan at his idiocy and trudged over to their things. He broke a thin strip off of a half-eaten wafer of _lembas_. He snapped it in half, proffering the second piece to Lindir.

He exhaled slowly, looking down at the pinky-sized rectangle. Milky teeth cut through the hard shell, and a small smile danced across his lips as he reached the silky, honeyed centre. It could become trite quickly, but he had always loved it.

Silence reigned as they ate. Erestor rose and dusted the crumbs off his hands when he finished. Seeing Lindir's questioning look, he explained, "I will go collect some sand to smother the embers."

"Oh! Are we leaving, then? Where will we go?" A mixture of excitement and puzzlement suffused Lindir's features.

"Into the wild."

"Out of this area? It is not as though staying is good for aught anyway."

Erestor cast a speculative glance towards their supplies. "We should likely find a better way to tote all this around, though. Those are not very efficient."

"Hmm. Erestor, we will have most of it on our bodies, anyway," Lindir pointed out.

"Well, we might as well check how much." That prompted a flurry of motion and liberal _fwaps_ of flapping cloth. Many of the knives were all ready strapped to Erestor's thighs, calves, back, forearms, and upper arm. Still, he tucked a few extra into his boots and his belt while Lindir placed his few in their respective places. They each slung a bow and quiver over their shoulder, followed by several bundles of _hithlain _rope. A flask of water hung at their waists, and belt pouches were stuffed with cakes of _lembas_. Lindir's lyre also rested against his back, right on his tunic.

They stared down at the remainder. A snarl of fishing tackle; a medley of copper, iron, and steel pots; a still-damp change of clothes; piles of oiled cloth; and their tinderbox. "What is the name of Eru are we meant to do with these?"

"Umm... I am not sure, Lindir." Erestor kicked the stack of cloth over, scuffing his feet in the dirt. "We could maybe make a bag out of this?"

"Maybe... Somehow." Lindir grimaced. "Are we _certain_ we have nothing else?"

"Umm, I—I guess we could sift through the remains of the boat for nails and bolts and such. I do not know what we will find, though." Erestor's lack of comprehension was obvious.

"Might as well. Let us go! Forward—MARCH!" Lindir exclaimed, before marching purposefully towards the beach. Erestor ambled along behind after gathering their things, a slightly deprecating, amused smirk gracing his features.

The mush of wood that had been their boat was partially washed away, which was something of a relief, Erestor thought, as he dumped the pots and medley of other things into the sand. It was less they had to dig through. Though, it was really, _really_ sad how horribly Lindir did at shipbuilding.

They stood looming over it for some time, just staring vacantly, before Erestor nudged it with his foot. A large beam was dislodged, falling into the lower pile with a squelch. The many small fibres following drifted down and hit silently as Erestor knelt gracefully to the sand and plunged his slender fingers into the mess. Lindir followed more hesitantly.

They worked steadily, both compiling separate heaps of wood that had been stripped for all its worth. Occasionally the _shing_ of a drawn blade broke the monotony, accompanied by _thumps_ and _pings_ as one or the other extracted a stubborn nail from more sturdy planks.

After a time, Erestor sat up on his toes, his body resting on his heels, and wiped his brow with his forearm. He was not hot or tired, but the motion somehow helped to relieve the crushing boredom. This activity could not fail to seem relentlessly _useless. _The pile of salvaged metal was minuscule when compared to the massive monster that was the boat's pulp. A listless sigh pushed past his lips as he poked half-heartedly through the shrunken remainder. A sharp prick startled him, and he swiftly sought a hold on the object and drew it up. "Oh look. A _spade_. I should have know you would bring everything and everything, Lindir." Ignoring his sheepish splutterings, Erestor simply tossed the shovel towards their supplies.

_Splat splat. Splat splat. Splat splat._

The repetitiveness got to Erestor, and he stood violently and stalked towards their things. Settling himself on the ground again, Erestor ignored Lindir's inquisitive glances and tore one of the cloths into strips. Another two were subjected to numerous holes being stabbed along their edges. Starting at a corner, he wove strips in and out of the holes, creating a rude sort of bag. He lined the inside with the other cloths and shoved everything else in on top of it. A quick jog over to the "ship" and he had collected all the nails and plopped them in, too. The final strip of cloth was tied neatly around the opening.

Erestor finally looked up to show Lindir, but what met his eyes was the horrified visage of his friend, bathed in a red glow. Only then did he feel the heat radiating onto his back. He whirled, shocked, then backed away.

Every tree was in flames, a raging inferno.

It was then that Erestor realised what should have been clear all along.

He was an idiot.

**AN: So.**

**I'm not a huge fan of this one. Not at all, really. And it's taken ****_forever_****. I'm really sorry about that. Not to make excuses, but I have had two hours of homework in history alone every night, plus everything else. I am truly sorry. My normal computer also wouldn't let me log in to fanfiction, so I had to wait to use a different computer.**

**Sorry. Really. (If you reviewed and I didn't respond, that was why.)**

**I actually have a plan to get people into the next chapter, so yay! They'll definitely be there.**

**Thanks so much for reading, and special thanks to "Ranger Danger," "Teapot of transformation," "Kai-aala," and "Satipheen" for reviewing! I love it.**

**Sorry again for my slowness, and I hope you liked this chapter even if I didn't!**


	10. Pain

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from Tolkien isn't mine.**

**Chapter 10: Pain**

They stared dumbly at the flames for a long moment before bursting into motion. They did not have any buckets; there was nothing to hold water to douse it. Still, they dashed to the sea, trying to catch up armfuls of water, even handfuls, but always it drained away before they managed to get halfway up the beach. With the pained wails of the trees echoing in their minds, they both panicked. Separately. Differently. Erestor plunged into the sea, determined to get water to the forest, _somehow_. He let in saturate his clothing and filled his mouth with bitter, briny saltwater. The brackish liquid burned his revolting tastebuds until he spewed over a burgeoning flame on a border tree branch.

That was useless. So useless.

He ripped his tunic over his head and wrung every drop from it before donning it again, doing the same with his trouser.

Still it did nothing.

Their screams bounced off the walls of his head, the pitiful pain of the dead and the dying reverberating around his thoughts. Suppressing them. Replacing them.

_Not enough. Not enough_.

Lindir was trying to toss sand to little effect. That, too—

_Not enough. Not enough._

_Pain, pain, pain._

Buds shrivelled and died.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Leaves curled and twist sickeningly, blackening with a glowing rim of embers.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Underbrush went up like a candle, burning trees from the bottom up.

_Pain, pain, pain._

The charred flesh of seared squirrels and birds was nauseous.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Fire crept up thick bark, slipping through any cracks and sending the tree exploding out from the inside.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Crackling flame, threatening flame, encroaching from every side.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Human cries, tortured as skin hardened and turned black.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Singed hair and human bodies burned down to the bone.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Families, possessions, homes—left behind.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Hope deserted.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Fleeing, fleeing, muscles cramping.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Too far in.

_Pain, pain, pain._

It burned better than kindling_._

_Pain, pain, pain._

The forest cried.

_Pain, pain, pain._

So too did its inhabitants.

_Pain, pain, pain._

The forest howled its anguish and its peoples'.

_Pain, pain, pain._

It did not know elves.

_Pain, pain, pain._

It let them hear it all.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Feel it all.

_Pain pain pain._

For it did not know it should not let them.

_Painpainpain._

Nor how to stop them.

_Painpainpain!_

So they felt it all.

_PAINPAINPAIN._

All was dying.

_PAINPAINPAIN!_

All was dead.

**AN: It takes up a lot of space, but not many words. See, there are people! Thanks for reading! There haven't been any reviews in the last hours, so...special thanks to everybody! And to my Internet for going out and robbing me even of the opportunity to do math homework. I'm gonna go the that now that I can...**


	11. Envelop

**Disclaimer: My name's a letter or two too far away from Tolkien's on all accounts. Therefore, I am not he and he is not I; I don't own LOTR.**

**Chapter 11: Envelop**

It was cloying and pungent. It brought hacking coughs and smoky lungs. Smoke danced about forms trudging through ashen kingdoms, littered with bones and death and, for some, memories. Some cackled maniacally, cut off only by the pervading sickness that had entered their lungs. For others, it was a lost wandering, no direction, no thought. It was a desperate struggle to escape the black-grey fog. Others still lay crumpled and desolate. Yet a few—an oh so very few, just two—writhed in the sickening agony the inferno had prompted.

For one—of the two, just one—waves of bitter guilt washed through the torment, lacing its way through every section and setting up camp. Both together coursed through his veins, feeding the torture. Convulsions racked the slender frame, moonlit skin smudged with soot. Walnut tresses were flung every which way, granules of ash coating each strand. They fell heavily, not a single wisp failing to adhere to the surface below it. Limbs thumped limply to the earth in a cloud of ash, and the Noldo was still. Not still like death, those who would die had ended all ready. Still in the way of exhaustion, in the way of gasping, heaving breaths. Coughs ripped their way out of his throat, harsh from smoke and sounding dry. His back arched nearly double each time he coughed.

He tried to sit up, but overshot and fell face forward in another poof of black ash. A full mouthful choked him, his tongue moving up and down silently. The ash muffled every attempt to speak, and the frantic struggle to do so only allowed a film to cover his throat, scratching and viscous. He fumbled at his belt, pawing it in a panicked search for water. His breaths grew shallower and faster, drawing in lungful after lungful of fine, fine ash. Each inhale brought a flurry of coughs and sneezes that were infinitely debilitating.

Terror!

It gripped him, unyielding. Fear, fear, fear. Pain, pain, pain.

Water!

That was the key. He must find that clear liquid of life to sooth his firebrand-red burns, to cleanse himself of the ash.

Water!

He stumbled to his feet and took a few halting steps towards the ocean before hitting the ground again. Desperate, he crawled along the ground, flailing against what felt like miles deep of ash—the product of death. (His fault.)

There was another, he realised. Another being like him struggling, eyelids tightly shut and chestnut locks plastered to his skin. _Friend, _his mind whispered. _Friend. Lindir. _Confusion. He did not understand. What was friend? _Friend. Together. Water. Together. See?_ He did not. Friend meant going to big-water together? But no. That did not seem right. Mind-voice (him?) could not be right. Still, Mind-voice could have the right idea.

He lunged at the figure and gestured at themselves, then the big-water, trying to show they would go together.

But he could not speak; he could not think.

Other understood and looped an arm around his shoulder. He thought Other (Lindir?) was clever and followed suit. He and Other (_Lindir_) started their trek to the big-water.

It was hesitant. It was slow. They trudged, crawled, and scrambled.

They collapsed. The waves of the big-water lapped at their shoulders. Other lifted his head, sputtering. He watched idly, wondering why. A constricting pressure on his lungs burned him anew, and suddenly he saw Other's logic. His head also rose, spluttering degenerating into wet coughing. Black, viscid goo oozed out of his mouth after being flung up his throat by his lungs contractions. He groped forward, immersing himself in the water. Grey motes of ash lay suspended in the clear liquid. The briny water was a welcome change from the tasteless char from before. The salt stung, so grey orbs flickered closed. The frigid water was soothing on blistery burns. The big-water (_Ocean, _his mind reminded, _ocean_) was beautiful. Perfect, really.

He (_Erestor; you are __**Erestor**_.) sprawled widely and drifted on the...ocean? Tendrils of hair fanned out in a halo. Breath seemed almost crushed from his lungs, but this time it was difficult to care. The peace enveloped him. The sea cradled him. He was nothing, and he was everything, and he did not wish to go back. The recrimination he visited upon himself; the choking condemnation reverberating through his mind.

_No no no no no!_

Not his fault; no no, it was not.

_No no no no no!_

There was nothing wrong, just water. Water and silence. He could not believe more.

_Nonononono!_

Everything was fine, he thought blearily. Nothing was going wrong. In the deep quiet, all was right. He was not to blame. No one was. All was _right_.

(_No it is not; oh no it is not. Snap out of it; snap out of it!_)

(_Oh no it is not._)

A ripple. There was a ripple in the calm...

**AN: This was pretty abstract. I hope you like it irrespective. I know it's also kind of short. Thanks so much to "Kia-Aala" and "Teapot of transformation" for reviewing!**


	12. Nothing Else

**Disclaimer: Tolkien is not I and vice versa. Woo! No-ot mi-ine.**

**Chapter 12: Nothing Else**

Lindir cursed. Virulently. The sea seemed suddenly at once as thick as molasses and as thinner than air. He could not move and get to Erestor, but his arms cut through the water like nothing was there at all. Erestor had been pressed beneath the waters for far longer than was safe, even for an elf. _How_, by the Valar, had he dredged through all that distance only half-aware? Elbereth! His head dipped under the waves by a particularly violent surge. A gulp of salty seawater leaked into his mouth as he draw a gasping breath, and a coughing fit only sent him sinking again.

He kicked frantically, startled when his feet did not connect with the ocean floor. He flailed in the water, lifting his chin a far back as he could. He barely managed to stay above the water for more than seconds. Every time he surfaced, he dragged in as much oxygen as possible.

_Stupidest. Death. Ever._

That frankly disheartening thought spurred him to redouble his efforts. There were infinite ways to die, and he would rather consign himself to eternal torment than perish in the _stupidest possible way_. That was just insulting.

After a long stretch, Lindir dared to lower his head and nearly groaned. A pale form floated facedown and spread-eagle underwater. Right in front of him. With dark hair. Erestor.

He. Was. An. Idiot.

It was not up for debate.

He plunged down and snatched a limp appendage—an ankle, as it turned out—and began kicking his way towards what he prayed was the shore. He clutched Erestor's ankle close to his chest, and the other leg's continual smashes into his nose forced him to gather up both legs and rely solely on propulsion from kicks.

In short, he was rather certain of his impending doom.

His muscles twinged in protest against his exertions. He did not habitually swim this far as a matter course, much less with a deadweight that immobilized his arms and often one leg. Because of his awkward grip on Erestor, he had to lift him up above the water in the hope that he would, perhaps, breathe. The involvement these took only ensured that he remained well and truly lost. His disorientation only compounded his speed problem. And _Valar_, even his thoughts were running in rambling, vapid circles!

Life had never before seemed so distant.

Life had never before seemed so full.

Futile. Futile. Futile. Exhaustion forced his thoughts into an endless spiral.

It was not worth the effort all of a sudden. It could not work out properly anyways. He collapsed and let the waves take care of them. After all, they had to have some use, did they not?

They drifted, allowing the sea to push them to the beaches and then jerk them back a bit. Again and again and again. Endless. Ceaseless. Pointless.

Then, finally, they washed up on the shore.

Sand and water and still bodies.

Lindir knew he must force the water from Erestor's lungs, but he had not the strength to move.

He simply let his head _thomp_ onto Erestor's stomach, praying that he was not too far gone and that Elvish healing would account for the rest.

He could not lose Erestor.

There was nothing else he could do, though.

Nothing else.

**AN: Not ****_super_**** pleased with this one. It's hard to write Lindir and this was a kinda difficult spot. I hope it was at least tolerable...?**

**Thanks so much to "Kai-Aala" and "McSparkle Pants" for reviewing! It's truly lovely.**


	13. Nothing and No One

**Disclaimer: Seriously? This is necessary? People, I obviously own nothing. 'Cept ****_maybe_**** my storyline. And any Native American OC's I'll eventually have to create... Uh-oh...**

**Chapter 13: Nothing and No One**

_What? Where am I?_ Even Erestor's thoughts were coated in a groggy fog. He had no memory of anything, bar smog and ash and fire. But _something_ must have happened... Afterwards...he had...what? What?! He did not recall... Just a choking sense of guilt. And he _was_ responsible, no doubt about that. Wallowing in guilt, which he assumed he had, clearly turned out poorly. He must function despite the abhorrence suffusing every corner of his being.

With that resolution, he made to sit up. This was met with a searing, stabbing headache. _Idiot! _his mind berated snidely. _Did you believe you got of scot-free?_ His lips parted to answer before the revolting taste on his tongue made itself known. He gagged, the cloying taste brined seaweed, particles of sand, and excrement too horrid to remain stoic. He dragged his top teeth painfully across his tongue, but his attempt to scrape the foulness off resulted only in a wince. A small burst of wild, frustrated laughter accompanied Erestor's next scratchy breath. The ripping agony was disregarded.

Even his burns stung dully. He ought to have known better than to dunk them in saltwater. _Oh, this is getting ridiculous, _he sneered internally. _Just get up and deal with it, nitwit!_

Erestor pushed himself up, agreeing with, although a bit affronted by, himself.

...that was strange...

Really...odd.

He needed to apply for a new set of thoughts.

"Clearly." The exasperated drawl came from behind him and slightly to the left.

Erestor whirled, his leg catching up sand. His speed caused it to spray forward as a solid sheet of grit when he ground to a halt, and it progressed directly into the fawn-haired figure who had spoken. It hit with a _shist_and a puff of fine dust, then almost...dripped or slipped down his skin like liquid. Sand and small rocks made their home in his hair and clothing, though.

"Sorry, Lindir," Erestor muttered sheepishly, though the Sindarin elf just continued to stare forward in shock, mouth agape. Concerned at the Sinda's unresponsiveness, Erestor dragged himself forward. Sand snuck inside his tunic. It was irrelevant.

"Lindir. Lindir." He drew so close their noses nearly bumped, and Erestor could feel the stagnantly drifting breath wafting from Lindir's slack jaw. It was warm and smelled of ocean breeze. "Lindir! You are fine." His tone turned wheedling. "_Lin_dir, _please_." The first syllable was drawn out. "Please!" Erestor sat back on his heels, fisted hands perched on his hips. "_Lindir_! Why will you not _listen_ to me?"

"Eru! Lindir, this is getting ridiculous. It was only _sand_. It is not your doom. I did not even intend to speak aloud, much less cover you in sand." He exhaled huffily. "Come _on_!" He leaned forward, lips aligned with one pointed ear, and blew a stream of cold air into it.

Lindir started. "Erestor! What? Why? How? I— What?"

Erestor's lips turned up smugly. "Nothing, Lindir. It is fixed now."

Pain was easy to ignore, he mused, if one had a distraction. Of course, the moment the thought passed through his mind the pain came roaring back in throbbing waves.

Erestor shoved the sensation down before rising. "Ready?" he asked Lindir, extending a sand-caked hand.

Lindir grasped the long fingers and used them to pull himself up, too engrossed to notice Erestor's unsteady wavering. "Ready."

Still clutching the other's hand, Erestor and Lindir shuffled around to face the opposite direction. To the east, there was the sea, grey and roiling but familiar. But to the west—oh, the west—and the north and the south, there was nothing. A barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. It was impossible to believe it had been not even a day since the flames took it—at least, they thought it had only been one turning.

Seeing limp figures, as well as several still staggering about, both trotted over towards the wood pulp of their boat, where their pack still lay. Their damp shoes made a soft _shluck_ noise as they trod over soaking sands.

Each moved to face the other, hair hanging in rat's-tails or drying in tight ringlets. Erestor gave Lindir a little smile, though his lips turned down at the corners. He let out one harsh laugh. "What geniuses are we!" Contempt rang in the words.

Lowering himself to one knee, then the other, Erestor caressed the oiled cloth before glancing up at Lindir. His smile now was smaller and suffused with sorrow. It was also more genuine. "What geniuses are we..." Long fingers were clawed into the sand. "What geniuses..." His voice trailed off into nothing, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The cloth balled in Erestor's fingers as his grip tightened. Jerking it toward him, he stood, tears glistening in grey eyes. His jaw set, and his cheekbones were thrown into sharp relief. "What_idiots_. What _complete_ and _utter_ idiots. What idiots are we." His teeth ached of clenching. "Am I."

Liquid welled beneath his eyes as it slipped out, not quite flowing over the contours of the bone. The the puddle trickled down his face at the sides. He jerked the pack up by the neck, sopping up the tears with a sleeve as it shot past his face. He stalked away, his arm held at an odd angle from the way he tossed it over his shoulder. He dared not let go of it. Lindir trailed behind, his face a mixture confusion and compassion.

Erestor strode straight towards a prostrate figure he had seen stirring earlier. Carefully, he gripped the Man's shoulders and turned him over. Erestor reeled back a little before closing his eyes as he fought off another wave of sorrow. Black burns had eaten through layers of flesh to the bone up and down the arms and legs. Black hair was singed off up to the Man's chin. It still smouldered, the slight stench causing him to wrinkle his nose. Worst of all, though, was the blank lifelessness in the dark eyes. The stillness of the chest. The hallmarks of death.

Erestor winced and swirled away, checking dozens upon dozens of Men's bodies; man, woman, and child had perished alike. Every child roused a deep melancholy in him, and he held his sobs in only through the harsh bite his teeth clamped onto his lower lip. He pressed so hard crimson blood dripped down his chin.

_Nothing and no one. Nothing and no one._

Naught but he and Lindir had survived the reign of destruction he had wrought.

_Nothing._

_Nothing and no one._

_You _id_iot!_

Thoughts and recriminations chased themselves back and forth and flitted to and from the deepest recesses of his mind as the death toll piled up. A soft groan from the outskirts of what had once been the forest jarred him out of his musings. Erestor dashed over, Lindir swift on his heels.

This Man looked little better that the others, save for no white bone peeked out of his burns. His eyes, also, were brimming with agony. Better that than empty. Erestor fell to his knees beside the dark haired Man, one ringlet swinging out and whacking him in the nose. He wetted a square of cloth ripped from his tunic and began to gently swab the Man's wounds. He meant to keep up a chatter to distract the poor victim of his idiocy from his pain, but the Man did not respond to his query in Westron nor any of the other countless tongues of Men he had picked up. Finally he lapsed into Sindarin, hoping that it would at least soothe the Man.

"I le? Im Erestor. Le galadhon? Amin..."

**Sindarin Translations:**

**I le: Who [are] you**

**Im Erestor: I am Erestor**

**Le galadhon: You [are] of trees**

**Amin: I**

**AN: So I'm really, really, really sorry. I didn't mean to take so long. I've just had a million and one tests, and my Internet went spotty, and then, the second I finished was down. So, sorry! I really tried, and it's extra long. I hope you liked it! This is the first time I've gotten to 10,000 words. Yay!**

**Thanks for understanding and reading! Special thanks to "McSparkle Pants," "Kai-Aala," and "Teapot of transformation" for the reviews!**


	14. Only This

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's people, places, and plot are not mine.**

**Chapter 14: Only This**

Erestor sat cross-legged before the limp Man. The ash had spilled over onto his lap, the small granules obstructing his entire legs. He stroked a strand of hair from the stranger's face and sighed. He had done his best for the Man without healing supplies, but danger ran rampant for the human still. Because Erestor simply could not communicate with him, everything would be difficult. The elf heaved himself to his feet and bid Lindir remain with the Man while he searched for other survivors. The Sinda replied with a sharp nod and settled into the impression Erestor had created.

Erestor slogged through the blanket of damp, pasty ash. The morning dew had not done it any good. Black streaks slashed across his clothes, and the staining ash dyed his calves grey. A curl slipped down into his vision, and as he flipped the ringlet back, he lamented that he had not had time to towel dry it and prevent...this. Elves were _supposed_ to have straight hair.

The landscape was dreary and the task dreadful. It had not the scope of the Great Wars, not of the Last Alliance nor the War of the Ring. Yet, there was a certain...abhorrence inherent in deaths so senseless, so _achingly_ stupid. And so very preventable. It was disgusting that so many men, women, and children could be snuffed out by their _idiotic_ campfire. There was only _one—_just a single survivor. And all those trees with veins of green, chattering squirrel and cheeping birds, skulking skunks and buzzing bees—gone.

Though, he could not mourn the _crick_ing insects.

Awful creatures.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Erestor sunk into a puddle beside Lindir and the comatose Man. His face was littered with grey steaks of ash as he buried his head in soot-coated hands. "There was no one else." The words were shaky and muffled. "No one else of—however many tens, maybe hundreds." The curtain of hair jerked in a vague movement towards the human. "Just him." Erestor gave an incredulous laugh. "No one else, Lindir. How could this happen?"

"I—I... You tell me, Erestor."

"Eru, Lindir, _I _do not know. Not really." He drew his head out from between his knees. Bitter amusement bloomed across his face. "We have done this before, have we not? Again and again and again, and never do I have the answer. I think now that I never will." His upper lip curled disdainfully. "For, it matters not that I should know the answer if I will not admit what it is." The curls danced as he shook his head. "It has, of course, happened solely due to my lack of care. Though I would not wish to torment myself thusly, it is truth. Truth holds paramount." His voice cracked and choked on the final word, and the smudged face once more retreated out of sight.

"Ah, Erestor. Do not be like that. Come, let us go. We ought to move the poor Man from this pasty plain soon anyhow." The pale hand fluttered hesitantly over the hunched shoulders before Erestor surged upward and took the choice away from Lindir as his hand was batted away.

"Aye. Aye, we must, of course. To the coast, perhaps. The coast!" He swayed a little, almost drunkenly. Lindir eyed him apprehensively. Erestor was clear beyond exhaustion, as well as both a bit grief-stricken and guilt ridden. He did not trust his strength to stay sound.

"Erestor, you take his legs, please. I will take the head and shoulders." Erestor complied, and they plodded through the viscid stuff, the Man suspended above it. His heels dragged into the char whenever Erestor's grip faltered. The violent wavering of his arms insured this remained a common occurrence. By the time the two stumbled onto the sand, the Man's feet had been covered in ash.

"There is nothing more we may do for him," Lindir allowed. "Erestor, you should sleep. Please, you need to rest some."

"Must—sleep?" The words slurred, and his legs trembled.

"Aye." It was not a suggestion this time. "We can work things out in the morning."

"Work—out—the morning?'

"Sleep, Erestor. Sleep."

The Noldo slipped to the ground, his head pillowed in his arms. Lòrien pulled him into the realm of dreams swifter than thought, and grey eyes fluttered closed.

The brunette Sinda sighed, pleased his friend was sleeping, aye...

...but the sight of locked off silver eyes would haunt his own dreams.

**AN: So I'm sorry I've taken awhile again.**

**OK, I just have to ask. What did I do wrong? Was the last chapter so very awful? I did not mean to ruin anything. Could you maybe tell me at least was wrong with that/these, so that I could possibly fix it and/or not do it again? Whatever it was that I did, I am sorry, just please tell me how to make it right? **

**Thanks for reading, though! Special thanks to those who have reviewed, followed, or favourited in the past.**


	15. A Sweet Peace

**Disclaimer: Are these actually obligatory? I never really read the rules. Tolkien and his magnificent world do not belong to me.**

**Chapter 15: A Sweet Peace**

Erestor awoke baffled, wondering why he could see nothing but a wave of red. He shot up, feeling around him in puzzlement. "Lindir? Lindir, I cannot see!"

An amused laugh rang through the air. "It might help if you opened your eyes, sweet Erestor."

A rose blush suffused his cheeks. "Oh. Right." He peeled his eyes open, only to squish them shut again. His friend's query floated towards him, his tone now concerned. "Bright," Erestor moaned. "Just bright."

"_Oh_." The humour was back. "Well, _then_ it might help if you _turned away from the sun_, sweet Erestor."

"Oh. Well, yes, I suppose it might."`

"You _suppose_."

"Aye. It is quite possible I was merely blinded by the glorious luminescence of your brilliance."

"Ah...ha...?" Erestor let out his own peal of chiming laughter as he flipped around, the niggling amusement at Lindir's confusion refusing to be suppressed. It fizzled a little as he cracked his eyes open and was greeted with the disheartening sight of the ashen field. He forced back the deluge of sorrow and joked again, a little forced. "Much lamented are the dangers of being Elvenkind, for should you mistakenly rest with eyes a-closed, you shall indeed remain blind for all your days, for want of a thought to open them!"

The scholar snagged the minstrel's hand and dragged him along to the frothy waves. They stood for a while, the water lapping at their ankles and the little white bubbles creeping up their legs and popping in small tickling bursts. Once even the sand had been cleansed of the dark stain filtered into as the water washed over it and their sooty feet, both could not control the longing to be wholly clean. They shed their clothes and weapons and left them in a pile on the sand before wading into the frigid sea.

For a time the Sinda and the Noldo merely frolicked, content to dwell in the embrace of Ulmo's dearest creation. Their purpose still held, though. The elder was the first to dip beneath the waves, fingers groping for a handful of sand as a single pale toe peaked above the surface. The toe disappeared when Erestor emerged triumphant, the gaps between both set of fingers leaking globules of sand. Erestor bestowed a small smile upon Lindir as he pressed one handful onto him and curled slender musician's fingers around it.

A gentle familiarity and a sweet peace washed over them as they floated in the waves scrubbing their skin and hair clean. It was a kind of normality, a kind of knowing this was not so unusual. It had a safety to it the unknown could never dream of, and as they both tread through the sea they so loved, they knew that somehow, someway, they would make this right.

**AN: I know it's really short and interludish, and I'm sorry, but it's all I could get out right now. I've got a lot of projects and tests, and my grandma had a heart attack. Forgive me my excuses.**

**Thank you so much for reading, and super special thanks to "Kai-Aala" for reviewing.**


	16. Do (Not)

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's stuff is so not mine it's not even mildly amusing pretending it is.**

**Chapter 16: Do (Not)**

Before fully departing the silken caress of the ocean, they also scrubbed down their clothes. The clothing, particularly Erestor's, has nearly all colour blotted out by filth. It was only then that Erestor realised he had nothing with which to dry his hair. Desperate, he tried wringing it out and prayed. Lindir arched one eyebrow. "Erestor, I do not think that is going to work."

"Says who?"

"Says me. You just have to embrace it."

"Do not!"

"Do so."

"Do not!"

"Do so."

"Do not!"

"Do so."

"Do not!"

At that point, the prone figure between their argument moaned piteously. They silenced immediately, sinking down onto the balls of their feet to be nearer the Man. Erestor did not lean over him, not wishing to spray the Man with droplets from wet hair. "Suilad." A longer groan replied, along with a crack between the eyelids. "Maed? Echuidh?"

The man's eyes drifted open before widening dramatically. "Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing with me? What is going on?" The torrent of words came rushing out of the Man's mouth, and the two elves could only look at each other in bafflement. The train of rapid speech was nigh on unintelligible. Erestor flicked his hair over his shoulder and bent over, stroking the furrowed brow and whispering a stream of gentle Sindarin lilts.

Lindir hauled himself up onto his feet, a bit disheartened to realise there was nothing he could do. He had no skill in healing at all, and in his current state of exhaustion Erestor could do naught for the man but comfort without supplies. He exhaled sharply and breathed, "Do so."

Erestor did not seem to here it, yet, in the middle of the seamless Sindarin, a "do not" crept in where it had no place.

Lindir smiled. "Do so."

"Do not."

The Man babbled on, still confused. Some words bore a slight resemblance to Westron and other Mannish tongues they had learned over the years, particularly Erestor, as a diplomat. Erestor looked at the panicked Man contemplatively. If he could just get him to slow down a bit...

Slender fingers closed over the frantically working mouth until it stilled before withdrawing and placing an index finger across the lips. "Shhh. Shhh. Langsam sprechen." Erestor dragged each syllable out. "Parlez lentement. Habla lentamente." Every language he could think of, he spat out, hoping that one would be close enough to get the Man to speak more slowly.

"Sllllooowwllllyyy?" The Man's voice seemed like a heavily accented version of one of the Southern Mannish tongues Erestor had not dealt with in years. "It...is...import...?" Some words made no sense at all. Still, it was progress, and progress is progress is progress.

They coaxed the man, gesticulating and speaking scattered words from what they figured was a similar tongue. They cajoled him into drinking the water and consuming the _lembas_ they offered. The water was swiftly trusted after a sniff and small taste, but the _lembas_ received a suspicious glare. The Man poked it and drew away, before repeating the strange dance as though expecting the waybread to explode. "Ea...eat," Erestor faltered in the Southern tongue. He broke off a corner and placed it in his lips. "See?" A trembling hand reached forward and struggled to snap off a piece of the _lembas_ bread. "Here," Erestor murmured, grabbing the larger chunk and splitting it from the bit in the Man's hand with an upward jerk of the wrist. "It is...good? Mmm-mmm. Try."

With another wary glance, the Man placed the bite in his mouth. The chary look instantly dissolved into bliss as the honey and cream suffused his tastebuds. The remainder of the wafer was regarded with a gaze of abject adoration. The Noldo smiled before tucking it back into its _mallorn_ leaf pouch. "That is good," he said, keeping to words he knew. "That all. How called?"

"Name? You want name?" Erestor nodded whilst still sifting through words and meanings.

"Yes. Name."

"I...Sassafras."

"Mae govannen, Sassafras." A puzzled tilt of a flame-shorn head. "Well met."

The Elda settled down beside the Man. "You...must sleep." Erestor bent over the Man, stroking his brow. "Sleep. Sleep and heal." The elf's voice was compelling, and the human found himself spiralling quickly into slumber.

There was a moment of silence as the Man lay slack and the Noldo remained beside him.

It was shattered without regret.

By Lindir, who else.

"Do so."

**Sindarin Translations:**

**Suilad: Greeting**

**Maed: [Are] you well?**

**Echuidh: [Are] you awakening?**

**Mae govannen: Well met**

**The babbling in other languages is just me and Google Translate trying to say, "Speak slowly."**

**AN: So, this one is...interesting. I hope you can make sense of my messed up attempts at inter-lingual communications, considering I only speak English fluently. Nor have I left my primarily English-speaking country. So the most experience I have is being around French, and that didn't fit. **

**I hope you don't hate the name too much. It's all I could think of.**

**Thanks so much for reading, and to "Kai-Aala" and "Teapot of transformation" for reviewing. **


	17. Saccharine

**Disclaimer: Not my backdrop or characters.**

**Chapter 17: Saccharine**

"Curly... Currrr-lyyyyy! Wake, curly!" The Man poked Erestor. "You...dead, curly? Strange eyes. Currrr-lyyyy! Curly!" He gave a slender shoulder a jerk.

Elvish eyes cleared, and as he peered up at the Man he mumbled, "Rub it _in_, why don't you." He rubbed the back of his head as he sat up, grumbling discontentedly. "Curly. _Curly_. Val-_Eru_, he calls me _curly_. Cursed hair. Is that all—? Lindir! Lindir, he calls me _curly_. _Lin_-dir, what have you _done_?"

"Hmm? What was that?" A head of mussed fawn hair poked into his vision. "Curly? That is _perfect_! I ought to call you that."

Erestor yanked viciously on a glossy ringlet. "I—no. You—do not dare. My hair is hardly awful in comparison to mortals'. At least it is smooth. Really, you truly need not call me "curly"; I wish no such epithet. Leave me _be_, Lindir." He glared diagonally up at the other elf.

The Man, Sassafras, reached over and tugged on Erestor's sleeve, his knees scrabbling for purchase on the minute grains. "Curly? Curly, what wrong?"

Erestor threw his hands up and stalked away, absentmindedly fingering the leather-wrapped hilt of a _mithril_ blade. He unsheathed it with a soft _shing_ and tossed it into the air before catching it with a little artistic flourish. His thumb stroked the lovely dagger reverently.

"Come now, Erestor!" Lindir rushed up with brown strands of hair caught in his eyes and mouth. He swiped at them futilely, the wind tossing them about mercilessly. Erestor's heavy ringlets only wriggled a little. "Twas just a jest, Erestor." He smiled dazzlingly before hesitating. "Well, at least, for my part," Lindir amended. "Do not be offended. Such was not my intent."

Erestor's right eyebrow quirked, and the left corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. His shoulders quaked with suppressed laughter, and a waterfall of walnut hair followed suit, dancing along his back. "You—" was all he could choke out. "What? I—Lindir, I—what?"

Triumph glinting in sea blue eyes, Lindir seized Erestor's arm and took to dragging him. "Come along, little Erestor. Come along."

"Lindir." He brandished the knife still clutched in his right hand. "Lindir, let me free."

"Come, Erestor, the Man wishes you there. Do we not owe him something? Please, 'Restor," Lindir wheedled.

"Lindir." Lindir froze at the dangerous tone, and swivelled slowly around to meet furious grey eyes. Locked onto the apprehensive blue, Erestor advanced. "_What_ did you just call me?" His voice was low and dangerous.

"Ahh-hahaha... Not curly?" Lindir offered, backing away. His flicked towards the dagger in Erestor hand before darting back up.

"Yes," he hissed, the _s_ sound drawn out. "Not curly. But it was not _Erestor_ either, was it." His tone fell off with flat finality. It was not question.

"N-no," Lindir stuttered. "I-it was not."

"And _what_ is my name?" The grip on the dagger turned vice-like.

"E-erestor."

"So _what _should you call me?"

"Erestor." The blue eyes stretched wide, flickering again to the sharp blade at Erestor's side.

"Good! We have an agreement!" Erestor beamed, his smile loaded with saccharine sweetness. His dagger thumped back into its sheath. "You will call me Erestor, I will call you Lindir, and everyone will live." He shot a glare at Lindir. "It is perfect, is it not?" It melted back into a grin when Lindir jerked his head in frantic nods.

"Lovely! Now come, I fear we have a wounded Man to tend to." He strode off as though all was normal.

Lindir trailed behind, berating himself for forgetting what Erestor was like about his name. He was convinced it was Elladan and Elrohir's fault. Cursed twins and their "'Res."

**AN: Aiya, I need to get this plot going somewhere. I'll try. I also just write really slowly. I can write for 10 minutes and only come out with a short sentence and a line of dialogue.**

*****On a different note, does anyone want more Elves or flashback-type scenes? If you could maybe tell me whether or not you'd like that and whom, I'd appreciate it.*****

**Thank you to my readers and my reviewers. Thanks so very much to Kai-Aala for reviewing nearly every chapter; it's really quite bolstering.**

**Thanks again!**


	18. Men and Memories

**Disclaimer: Tolkien, Jackson et al.; I think we all know who really owns _The Lord of the Rings_.**

**Chapter 18: Men and Memories**

**AN: Because no one has said they're opposed to flashbacky-thingies, (no one's said anything at all) I'm going to go for it. See how this turns out.**

Erestor sighed deeply beside the slumbering Man. In all the years as Man began to dominate the Earth and push out all other races, he had never felt truly comfortable with any of them. Indeed, the last time he had was millennia ago, near the end of the Third Age. It had begun with a giggling child with no respect for his elders.

_A small toddler came pelting through the halls of Imladris towards Erestor. He was pursued by a pair of identical elves who had caused more than their share of trouble in their days. The youngling and his mother Gilraen had been around for a few months, since the death of Arathorn. The child must have been Aragorn. This was the reason Elrond had taken him in; he had the blood of his twin Elros in his veins. However, Elrond taking over the role of father also accounted for Erestor's not having met the boy. The extra workload was immense. Not that he had anything against meeting little Aragorn..._

_...he just did not wish to be knocked over. The pile of papers teetering in his arms protested his movement, slipping left or right every time he began to dodge. The arrow of mortal child slammed into him full-tilt, sending both of them flying backwards in a snowfall of fluttering papers, sharp quills, and leaking ink bottles. Erestor closed his eyes in resignation as the Adan scrambled up._

_Only when he heard running footsteps dashing down the hall did he open his eyes to the disaster. The one in front of him...and the one coming towards him. "Oh Valar..."_

"_Estel! Estel! What have you done this time?" Elladan panted._

"_Yes, what?" Elrohir, too, had reached the two, a soft leather boot stopping with a slight splash in a puddled of ink. "How did you manage to knock 'Res over?" The peredhel laughed and tossed straight raven hair over his shoulder._

_The Noldo and the toddler spoke over each other, the elf in protest and the child in curiosity. "Who's that, 'Dan, 'Roh?" Aragorn questioned, or Estel, now, he supposed._

"_This is 'Res, Estel. He is Ada's chief counsellor," the younger twin explained, hefting the child in his arms and enduring merciless yanking on his hair. "Try not bowl him over again. At least not by accident." Both twins then whirled around and bore Estel away._

"_Elrohir! Elladan! You cannot... You must not... Do not get another person to call me that Valar-forsaken name! No one will call me be name soon! Elrohir!" As they continued walking away unconcerned, Erestor blew out frustratedly and slumped down. Then groaned. The splash of ruined papers, snapped quills, and cracked ink bottles met his desolate gaze. "I am _never_ going to finish this now."_

Erestor smiled, remembering how that child had grown up. He had always called him the dreaded "Res," first with innocence and a sweet smile and then with a cheeky grin. Even when they entered into the Fourth Age, the Dúnadan-turned-Ranger still could not resist...

_Erestor fiddled with a strand of hair, strangely restless now that the coronation and marriage of their Estel was finished. He had not really thought Estel would be king, and he had certainly never dreamed two of his lord's children would wed one another. Still, he was glad. They would be happy together. Seeing the couple was unoccupied, he strode over and embraced them. He drew back quickly, feet pattering on white stone. "Well, penneth, it looks like you have exceeded everyone's expectations." His eyes shone suspiciously. "Both of you will be very happy until the end of your days. I too will stay until that time, and so too for your children and your children's children. If Elrond cannot, it is only fitting that I shall." His smile wavered a little. "I wish you every happiness."_

_The newly-crowned King of Gondor surged forward to embrace his tutor and guardian. "Thank you 'Res. I will be glad to have you here with me. Arwen and I will cherish a memory of our Elven kin." The king and queen smiled again with watery eyes. "Thank you so much 'Res."_

Yes, it had begun with a giggling child with no respect for his elders, but it ended with a king.

A king, with no respect for his elders.

**AN: Well, no one _did_ give me any feedback on the whole flashback thing. It was fun. If anyone dislikes it, I'll stop, though I'll probably write a separate side story for myself and anyone who likes it. If not, they'll probably just show up in the story.**

**Thanks for reading and to "Teapot of transformation" and "Kai-Aala" for their reviews. Kai-Aala, I didn't want to read through to see if I'd answered your question, so I tried to answer it here. Hope this helps!**

**Thanks again!**


	19. Drop It!

**Disclaimer: Not my freakin' stuff.**

**Chapter 19: Drop It!**

"Erestor."

"Erestor."

"Erestor."

"Good morning, Erestor."

"Rise and shine, Erestor."

"Erestor."

"Are you paying attention?"

"Erestor."

"V-Eru, Lindir, I am not _asleep,_" Erestor cried in exasperation. That sing-song tone was _annoying_, no matter how skilled the minstrel.

"Well, you were not listening. You were off in some fantasy land."

"That is hardly a crime."

"Yes, but I wanted to speak with you."

"How glorious, Lindir."

"I know, is it not? _I_ am glorious in my own right."

"Lindir? No."

"No?"

"No."

"That is awfully insulting, Erestor."

"I know, Lindir."

"That makes it worse."

"I know that, too."

"Then why do you do it, Erestor?"

"It is fun."

"How could you take joy in such a thing?"

"Simply."

"Can we drop this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, Lindir, it is too amusing."

"Need it be?"

"Of course."

"I will stop it."

"How do you propose to do that, Lindir?"

"Like _this—_" Lindir pounced on Erestor, pinning the Noldo to the sand he had just begun to leave.

"Lind— Oomf." A musician's hand muffled Erestor's protests, and the lithe body held him down despite wild attempts to buck the Sinda off. The flailing arms were held securely, and Erestor let his legs fall limp.

"_Now_ will you drop it?" Erestor pretended to consider it while twitching his foot and twisting it around to lightly tap the inside curve of the other boot with a toe. A small blade protruded from the front and back of the sole. Slowly, a pensive look still on his face, he inched the leg up and pricked Lindir's calf with the knife. Lindir yelped and released Erestor's arms like they were adders and backed away apprehensively. Erestor stealthily retracted the blades with another tap before glancing up at Lindir in false bewilderment.

"Lindir? What is the matter?" 'Innocence' rolled off the Noldo in waves.

Still he was treated to a suspicious glare! "You know perfectly well what is wrong, you horrid advisor. Probably better than I do! You stabbed me!"

"Stabbed you? But Lindir, I had no blade, and you had pinned down my arms. And you are not actually...stabbed. You are not...bleeding, Lindir."

"You—"

"Curly? Mud? Where you?" The two elves' heads snapped up. It seemed they had tumbled a fair distance away from the Man in their tussle. They dropped their argument and made their way back.

They may indeed have dropped their argument, but Erestor could not deny the opportunity to get in some good-natured jibes in vengeance. "Mud, Lindir? You are Mud?"

"The one and only!" Lindir proclaimed grandly with a flourishing bow. "At least, the one and only if that Man has any pity..." The last was muttered a tad resentfully.

A satisfied smirk flitted across Erestor's face. "_Now_ you know how I feel. You ought to count yourself lucky 'Lindir' does not lend itself well to shortening."

The Sinda shoved Erestor a couple stumbling steps. "Give it up, _'Res_."

The scholar's eyes widened. "Lindir. Or, I am sorry, _Mud_. We _just _had a...talk...about this, did we not? If _you _continue with such a moniker, so too will 'Mud' live on." A feral glint flared in grey eyes. "And rest assured, greater consequences will _always_ loom. Just around the corner."

"Valar, you _are_ touchy."

"Congratulations. You have solved the secret! How grand." His tone was laced with sarcasm.

"Curly! Mud! Come!" The imperious voice rang in the air.

Both elves groaned dramatically. "Coming, coming."

"But seriously, Erestor...

"Mud?"

**AN: So, lots and lots of dialogue. I hope you could at least sort of follow it. I didn't like the dialogue tags there, so I tried to include a lot of names. **

**And about the boot-knives thing. I'm sorry; I've just always thought it would be a really effective way to hide them whenever I read or watch something where the characters are stripped of weapons. Lindir does not have them and is not meant to know. Hope it doesn't seem too cheesy.**

**Thanks so much for reading. Special thanks go to "Kai-Aala" and "Teapot of transformation" for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it.**

**Thanks!**


	20. Juvenile

**Disclaimer: Tolkien's. Not Larisya's.**

**Chapter 20: Juvenile**

"Erestor?"

"Yes, Lindir?"

"How are we going to get more food? The Man eats a lot more than we do. We have a stream—"

Erestor cut him off. "Because no self-respecting settlement would be found too far from fresh water."

"Yes... But we may not have enough _lembas_ to sustain ourselves and him whilst he heals."

"Oh... And the fire burnt all the nuts, berries, and animals." He scuffed a toe in the sand, drawing swirling designs. They sat in silence, only the lapping of the waves and the Man's steady breathing interrupting the quiet. The Man had somehow fallen asleep again in the time it had taken for them to walk back. He ought to have been able to see them approach, considering there was no longer a forest to obstruct his view, but...perhaps he had not been looking? Erestor sighed again, before taking a handful of sand and flinging in at the sea. The soft breeze shot the dry grains back in his face, leaving him coughing and spluttering. Pure exasperation painted across his face, Erestor flopped backwards onto the beach, his feet dragging and forming a small mountain of sand before them as they straightened. Another sigh. He rolled over, scattering the granules nearly level again. And sighed.

"Erestor."

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to drive me to insanity? Or, perhaps, to dye your hair blonde with sand?"

"Uh—"

"Because in the former endeavour I can ensure success, but for the latter I am afraid I must let you down gently."

"Lindir—"

"Now truly I would hate to need to do that, but I _am_ willing. And—"

"Lindir. I understand. I bothered you; I will stop sighing. Now would_ you_ please stop?"

"_Thank_ you, Noldo." Lindir slumped forward, the tension lining his back in his irritation slackening.

They sat in silence once more, Erestor still sprawled across the ground. Lindir had bent so far forward he could flop onto his front at any moment. Tired of listening to the dull murmur of the ocean already, Erestor gazed contemplatively at his companion. His foot was merely a few hand-widths away...a mischievous smirk spread across his lips. He slowly rolled onto his side, extending his leg unobtrusively. A slight wince followed every shifted grain of sand, but Erestor managed to prod Lindir's loose appendage without garnering his suspicions.

...beforehand, that is.

The pressure on Lindir's unbalanced lean was enough to send him pelting forward, his face smacking into the scalding sand while his hands were still flailing about in a futile attempt to regain his bearings. His shoulders swiftly followed, tipping him up onto the knees of his crossed legs. The poor Sinda was the very picture of indignity. Erestor's valiant struggles to smother his sniggers behind a long-fingered hand turned out to be in vain as the wronged elf raised his mussed head to fix the Noldo with a glare of pure betrayal. The peals of mirth rang over the sound of the sea, a clear sound with the lilt of a wooden flute. Every glance the brunette sent towards the lighter haired male's sullen frown set off a new round hysterics.

The Sinda's left eyebrow rose in his own stunning imitation of Elrond. He spit out a mouthful of sand to the right and wiped off crust lips before speaking dryly. "I thought juvenile jests were _my_ realm of expertise." Erestor continued writhing on the ground, nearly convulsing with the strength of his amusement. The eyebrow descended as Lindir's lips began twitch upwards. He clamped a hand over his mouth as a full-blown grin emerged, and it was not long until he joined his Noldorin friend in kicking up a sandstorm.

On the side, a perfectly awake Man sat, mouth gaping wide open.

"What the...?"

**AN: Oh gosh, I am so so so sorry, people. Or person, whichever it is. I've had finals and then a vacation, and I hate to say it, but I got NOTHING done before today in the past like...two weeks? Gosh I'm awful. And I STILL have nearly no plot to show for it. Dang it... I actually have a plan for the next chapter, and I considered putting it in this one, but it didn't really fit, and it would have taken longer to prove I am neither dead nor abandoning this. I really, truly, honestly am sorry. Please forgive me!**

**Irrespective, I need to thank Kai-Aala for reviewing. I hope I didn't manage to chase you off with my slowness! Or anyone just reading for that matter...**

**Thanks so much for still reading! (And sorry, again.)**


	21. Eyebrows

**Disclaimer: Tolkien would never leave this kind of thing to a random person he'd never met who wasn't even alive when he died. _So_ not mine.**

**Chapter 21: Eyebrows**

"People. Mine people," the Man, Sassafras, asserted. He'd finally managed to break up the two elves (or rather, wait for them to cease) and now he could finally have his say.

Erestor and Lindir, on the other hand, simply looked at each other in bewilderment. "They have died, though, have they not?"

The Man shook his head violently, the shorn locks hardly twitching. "More. I more people." Even now, the elves could not decipher several of the words, but it seemed intelligible.

"More? You have more people, somewhere else? Not here?" Erestor tried to convey the idea with hand gestures as well, desperate to prevent being led on pointless march.

Again, frantic nodding. "Yes. Come, come! You come!" The nodding continued.

Erestor fixed his gaze on Lindir and jerked his head to the left, prepared to drag the Sinda off if necessary. The minstrel simply followed a little ways' away. With a glance at the Man, Erestor began to mutter softly in Sindarin. "Do we follow, do you think? Would it be best?"

"I am not certain he could make it by himself, Erestor."

"Do we agree, then?" The scholar's left eyebrow arched questioningly.

"I supposed he ought to have the right to find his kin," the bard said with a shrug.

The right eyebrow joined its partner. "Aye. But I find that I am loath to depart of the sea, for have we not also the right to seek our kin?"

"Our kin are not coming, Erestor. Those who dwell on Arda now never intended to leave, and any stranded in this land will not be found sitting still."

"I suppose." The eyebrows settled back to where they ought. "Still, we must find more food for a journey, and likely walk along the river."

"The Man could know something," Lindir suggested.

"Tis indeed his home," Erestor pronounced swiftly before striding back to the Man.

"We go. But know you a way to get food?"

The Man gestured widely to the entire sea.

"How could we get food thusly? We have no way," Erestor argued, tucking a curl behind an ear.

The Man stared at the Noldo incredulously before holding up the ball of fishing tackle.

**AN: So I'm super unhappy with this, but I don't want to take forever with no explanation. This was, like, a half-hour endeavour, so I'm sorry. I just think I ought to warn you, updates will probably be slower because I've started working on a novel for my English courses. I'll keep writing this because I love it, but not as quickly. Sorry! For this chapter and future slowness. **

**Thanks to Kai-Aala for reviewing and to Lead Owl for following. Thanks so much!**

**Thank you for reading!**


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